An Indonesian human rights worker in East Timor
Kerry Brogan
Titi works at East Timor's best known human rights NGO, Yayasan HAK - one of few women and fewer Indonesians there.
Her activism began when as a university student in 1978 she helped organise anti-Suharto demonstrations. From 1986 to 1995 she was a journalist with the women's magazine Sarinah. This led her to the growing number of human rights and women's non-government organisations (NGOs) in Indonesia. When in 1994 the government banned three Indonesian news magazines, Titi joined a committee of female journalists to fight for press freedom. She campaigned on behalf of journalists who were imprisoned, and later took up the cause of persecuted members of the leftist party PRD. While visiting PRD members in Cipinang prison she also met several imprisoned East Timorese, among them Xanana Gusmao.
After talking with Xanana, she says, 'I became aware that democracy in Indonesia would not be realised if the occupation of East Timor continued'. Like many Indonesians, she had only learned about East Timor's human rights problems through the November 1991 Santa Cruz massacre - after a foreign journalist showed her photographs. In 1996 the senior journalist Goenawan Mohamed asked her to join Isai, the Institute for the Study of the Free Flow of Information. She helped train East Timorese journalists studying in Indonesia.
It was the highly publicised rape late in 1996 of a young woman in Ermera district by a TNI soldier that really drew Titi into the fight for human rights in Timor. She joined a campaign for an investigation.
In March 1999, she travelled to East Timor for the first time, to conduct a training advocacy workshop with Yayasan HAK and other groups. A week later, dozens were killed at the nearby Liquica church. Back home Titi worked with others at the Jakarta solidarity organisation Fortilos to put pressure on the government. In June Fortilos sent her back to East Timor to become a volunteer with Yayasan HAK. Her job was to help distribute information about human rights violations. With the UN ballot fast approaching, Yayasan HAK was under enormous pressure. She edited the organisation's new magazine Direito. Terror
As the post-ballot mayhem descended upon East Timor, most of East Timor's human rights workers were sheltering at the Yayasan HAK office in Farol, Dili. None of us can forget the tension. On 5-6 September 1999, the office was attacked by militias and the TNI. 'While we were being attacked,' Titi said, 'I realised more and more the terror the people of East Timor had experienced throughout the Indonesian occupation.'
The only attempt by the authorities to provide protection was when the police mobile brigade Brimob arrived to escort the two white-skinned volunteers to safety, but not the East Timorese. The two refused to go without their colleagues. Brimob finally agreed to take them all out to police headquarters. From there they all flew out of the country, effectively removing the last human rights workers and witnesses to the gross human rights violations being perpetrated everywhere.
'We all cried when we left', Titi said. 'We witnessed the forced deportation of the civilian population, but could do nothing. I almost could not believe what I was seeing: the TNI and the militia it created, carrying out extraordinary acts of cruelty, while the international community was watching.' As she flew over Dili and witnessed the destruction, she promised herself she would return.
She did return, in March 2000. She still works with Yayasan HAK, editing the monthly Direito, and the weekly political analysis Cidadaun. She continues her women's activism too, helping the women's organisation Fokupers edit their publication Babadok.
When asked how East Timorese see her, she replies: 'Since I came to East Timor, I have become convinced that the people do not hate Indonesians. They hate the cruelty of the Indonesian military during the 24 years of occupation.'
Titi's presence helps maintain links between East Timorese and Indonesian NGOs. She thinks strong links are vital to human rights campaigns in both countries. They can assist with the campaign for justice, not just for East Timor, but for Aceh, West Papua and other parts of Indonesia. East Timorese NGOs have complained about the restricted jurisdiction of the ad hoc tribunal on East Timor in Jakarta. They are monitoring the process along with their Indonesian counter-parts. Like many, Titi does not believe the tribunal is a serious attempt at accountability, but a way for the Indonesian authorities to avoid an international tribunal to deal with the 1999 violence.
But Timorese NGOs are not just struggling against Indonesian pragmatism. 'Some Timorese political leaders want to have "reconciliation without justice"', she says. 'They say the people "have to forget about the past". Timorese NGOs have to strengthen their solidarity with the victims, who still want to see justice, but who are rarely heard.'
Kerry Brogan (brogan@un.org) works with the Untaet human rights office in Dili. Contact Titi at titi_irawati@yayasanhak.minihub.org. Yayasan HAK's web site is www.yayasanhak.minihub.org.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
This time, says an experienced activist, it's over oil and gas
Robert Wesley-Smith
'Australian treachery against East Timor again' was the title of a public statement by Australians for a Free East Timor on 1 April 2002. I am writing this because during my lifetime Australia has been treacherous to or deserted East Timor six times.
The first was my year of birth 1942. Australia withdrew its troops from East Timor in the face of overwhelming Japanese force, leaving not only the whole population to its fate but also guaranteeing death for most of the young men who had adopted Aussie commandos and been their eyes and ears and much more. During the Japanese occupation about 60,000 Timorese (12% of the population) died from attack and privation.
Earlier this year Japan sent its forces back to East Timor, but they do not want to talk about their wartime occupation, much less say sorry or pay reparations. Several thousand surviving East Timorese are directly affected. Much work by Japanese and Australian activists has not made a huge impact on this issue yet.
The family I grew up in was always well aware of aspects of WW2 history and the need to relate to Southeast Asia. My father had been a senior intelligence officer. He then had a lifetime of involvement with Asian students through the Colombo Plan at the University of Adelaide. He also studied in Indonesia. Ironically, us boys had a differing perspective on the Vietnam war. This introduced my brothers and I to human rights and the politics of Southeast Asia.
We learned that the early years of the Indonesian Republic created a liberal democratic society, with Mohammed Hatta somewhat of a hero. We were thus always able to distinguish between the people and the military regime which ruled to its own advantage, from the repression in Aceh and Papua to the invasion of East Timor.
I combined my busy job as a rural scientist in the Northern Territory with involvement in the growing struggle for the human rights and a decent standard of living for the indigenous people there. I mixed with young people from all over the Territory through playing and coaching sport. Gradually I managed more work opportunities with them, and I became involved in the land rights struggle with the pioneering Gurindji at Wattie Creek, now called Daguragu.
In 1975 I was there when Prime Minister Whitlam poured sand into the black hands of my friend Vincent Lingiari in recognition of his people's land rights. Later I lived to regret the way the government 'recolonised' aboriginal affairs using its money and power, without the community having the strong counter-backing of their activist friends. I see history repeating itself in East Timor.
Freedom
After the Carnation Revolution in 1974, Portugal allowed political parties in its East Timor colony for the first time. Party activists such as Jose Ramos Horta visited Darwin to seek support, and I got drawn in. I believe in being involved in one's 'backyard' as a priority. However, Cyclone Tracy devastated our city at the end of that year, disrupting normal life. From Dili came an official offer to help in any way possible.
I missed the great rallies in Timor in May 1975, but saw film of it and heard the call of freedom. Unfortunately stupid people, egged on by malicious ones in neighbouring countries, created a brief civil war which began and ended in August. We helped out with some aid via Acfoa and CAA. I engaged in a verbal battle with the mayor of Darwin to hold an appeal for East Timor - it didn't happen. Forward-thinking activists set up a radio link to East Timor in case the worst happened and normal communications were cut.
But the die was cast, and Indonesia moved towards a full-scale invasion, with support from the Whitlam ALP government and then the Fraser Liberal government. I was amazed and appalled. Treachery number 2. Around Australia and in a few other places East Timor support groups were established.
Then began three years of helping run Radio Maubere. We received the broadcasts from the mountains of East Timor sent by the Fretilin/ Falintil resistance. We also occasionally went to our countryside and did two-way broadcasts, whilst keeping a wary eye out for government telecommunications police, as we had been denied a licence. The information went to Sydney and Maputo/ Lisbon, and was published in East Timor News. But it was mostly met with indifference by the world press and governments. The details of this experience are in my chapter in Free East Timor (Vintage, 1998).
We heard the horrifying accounts of a nation being systematically torn apart, raped and genocided. Why did the world let this happen? The broadcasts ceased in late 1978, and at that time the Fraser government gave de jure recognition to the brutal Indonesian military occupation of East Timor - Treachery 3.
The 1980s were an isolated and difficult time for the support activists, as well as for the heroic resistance inside East Timor. Xanana quietly reformed the resistance and began to take it into the towns. So the foreign ministers Gareth Evans and Ali Alatas probably thought they were on a winner with the Timor Gap Treaty in 1989 - Treachery 4. Their glee in fact galvanised some who saw the injustice. And as with most treaties and acts conceived and born in injustice, they will unravel.
The Dili massacre at Santa Cruz, 12 November 1991, electrified the world when they saw it on film bravely taken by Max Stahl. Many groups formed or reformed. In Darwin we became Australians for a Free East Timor (Affet). Charlie Scheiner and others formed Etan and the email list for East Timor, which became the main information and linking mechanism. Initially from Jean Inglis in Japan the Ifet link with the UN was formed. Street action, as well as the paper war of lobbying and submissions, grew in Darwin and all over the world.
But Australia signed a defence treaty with the Suharto regime, another one conceived and born in injustice. The Howard government continued to support the Suharto regime despite its military atrocities in East Timor - Treachery 5. Only after the devastation became so great that the world finally cried 'enough', was Interfet created in September 1999. The Keating defence treaty was torn up. Howard now pretends Australia has always been East Timor's best mate.
Oil and gas
Living on the southern shore of the Timor Sea, I have kept an interest in the massive oil and gas reserves, which were part of the reason for the travail heaped upon East Timor by greedy neighbours. We held a conference on these issues back in 1990. The Timor Gap Treaty was always illegal, but it was continued for a while after the 1999 independence ballot, as a starting point for a new agreement. Apart from a bit of coffee, the new nation has few ways of earning hard currency and thus lifting the health and living standards of its people other than from its oil and gas reserves. Unfortunately the inexperienced administration in East Timor, like the Gurindji before them, has been 'dudded' by the greedy and the powerful.
Australia has played hardball once again, with a sneaky formulation of words as a new Timor Sea treaty. There was an effective public expose of this in March/ April 2002, and it was clear Australia was in breach of the international law of the sea. Australia then precipitately withdrew from the UN Convention on Law of the Sea, which guides the settlement of maritime boundaries issues. We concerned activists are continuing a hectic campaign to explain the issues. However the new East Timor government signed this document on 20 May. We can't understand why, it feels like the juggernaut is unstoppable.
But Mari Alkatiri can stop it single-handedly, like Superman! This document undoubtedly will lead to the theft by Australia of most of their seabed resources, valued at over US$30 billion. So, Treachery 6 and continuing. We will keep working with civic society in East Timor and Australia to reverse this and to gain economic justice.
Rob Wesley-Smith (rwesley@ozemail.com.au) is a spokesperson for Australians for a Free East Timor (Affet), Box 2155, Darwin NT 0801, Australia.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
Now is the time to create a fairer system
Selma Hayati
East Timor's economy has been transformed since the August 1999 referendum. First came the horrendous destruction of infrastructure by the Indonesian military, then the arrival of a large number of foreigners and associated business interests through Untaet. New urban employment opportunities have opened up in the service and construction sectors.
Foreign investors, often from Singapore and Australia, import used cars and run construction businesses. Foreign supermarkets, restaurants, and hotels import their vegetables, beer, wine and mineral water from overseas. They compete with East Timorese and Indonesian small enterprises. A highly visible split has developed between the traditional market, filled by the local community, and the foreign-owned supermarkets patronised by the rich.
Ignoring the predominant agrarian sector and even the now-defunct textile factory in Dili, the transitional government has focussed its policy efforts on the huge profits to be made from oil in the Timor Gap. Both UN Special Representative in East Timor Sergio Viera de Mello and former resistance leader Xanana Gusmao have also worked hard to ease the way to Timor Lorosa'e for foreign investors, saying they will stimulate economic growth and improve welfare. The strength of foreign capital, combined with the weakness of local business and of local law, have created structural problems these last two years. The transitional government is providing flexible legal protection for investors, while providing little protection for the rights of workers.
The year 2000 saw a proliferation of sixteen political parties and 177 national non-government organisations (NGOs). Of these, only two parties said they were concerned with labour issues - Trabalhista and the Timor Socialists. Among the NGOs concerned with labour are Laifet, Yayasan HAK, and the Australian NGO Apheda. The Timor Socialist Party has its own workers union. Meanwhile the Timor Lorosa'e Workers Union Confederation (KSTL) brings together nine unions.
Workers have campaigned on hours and overtime, on the contract work system, male and female wage discrimination, discrimination between the same type of local and foreign workers, and safety. There are also the matters of informal work, day labourers, part-time workers, and terminating employment. Labour Days have been an important focus for activists since 1 May 2000.
Workers participation?
However, the question remains how effective labour organisations have been. Whether they are political parties, NGOs, or unions, the participation of workers themselves tends to be weak. As in Indonesia in the mid-1990s, students have been the most vocal on labour issues. The two political parties who campaigned on labour issues in last year's election, meanwhile, tended to use workers merely as a vehicle so that elites could get into the Constituent Assembly.
The August 2001 elections led to a transitional cabinet that would hold office for six months. One of its new features was the Secretary of State for Labour and Solidarity. This office continues the work of the Division of Social Services and Labor of the Untaet-led East Timor Transitional Administration. It is responsible for the settlement of labour disputes. Before the election, workers would bring their dispute before CNRT and NGOs. The Secretary will also provide much-needed data on national employment, wages, and disputes.
Untaet declared at its beginning in November 1999 that all Indonesian law, thus including labour law, remains valid in Timor Lorosa'e. This has been less than satisfactory. Untaet and the national political elite opened the door wide for the entry of foreign capitalists and made Timor Lorosae a commodity for foreign investors to pay cheap wages and to violate workers rights without clear sanctions. Indonesian labour law also encouraged Timor Lorosae to lay the foundations of a developmentalism that was used by Indonesia for the last 35 years to exploit workers on a large scale.
In October 2000 Untaet drafted a comprehensive set of employment standards, and in March 2001 four new draft labour regulations followed. There was little follow-up at the time. However, early in May Sergio Viera de Mello signed into law a new National Labour Code produced by the Secretary of State for Labour and Solidarity. It covers minimum labour conditions and administrative institutions, principles and procedures on unions and labour relations, and rules on terminating employment.
NGOs, business associations, trade unions and Untaet have been involved in drafting labour regulations. But even NGOs and unions are caught in the technical issues of the regulations and have not started a debate on labour in relation to the system of national development. Even in Indonesia such technical issues have been left behind by the demand for reformation. The fundamental debates on labour politics in Indonesia could become important input for NGO activists and unionists.
Indeed, NGOs and trade unions have supported the Untaet and political elite demand for a 44-hour working week, in contradiction to the ILO standard of 35-40 hours. The tendency has been for NGOs rather than trade unions to be involved with labour disputes. Untaet, meanwhile, tended to spread information about new labour regulations to NGOs and business associations, rather than to the unions.
Selma Hayati (selmah@oxfam.org.tp) is researching labour in Dili.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
How will East Timor manage its economy?
Helder da Costa
Can tiny impoverished East Timor emerge as a viable, independent and stable state? This question mattered greatly as the Fretilin-dominated government took over the running of the nation, its institutions and economic policies on 20 May 2002.
Like Bosnia and Herzegovenia, South Africa, Rwanda and Cambodia before it, East Timor is a nation emerging from trauma. It is only now experiencing its first years of peace and the beginnings of political, economic, and social recovery after the 24-year occupation and the mass destruction of September 1999. The initial period of reconstruction needs to place a priority on meeting basic needs (food, shelter, water, health, education), as well as on maintaining political stability and personal security, while encouraging reconciliation and economic recovery.
If it is to meet the aspirations of its citizens, moreover, the reconstruction program must happen quickly and extend throughout the country. Institutional and policy foundations must be laid firmly and swiftly to prepare East Timor for sustainable recovery and growth. They must increasingly enable the country to rely on its own resources to design and implement the policies and institutions required for long-term development. An essential ingredient to provide that firm foundation is effective macroeconomic stability, so as to encourage foreign trade and investment and foster the private sector.
As a small half-island economy, East Timor is characterised by a large traditional sector, producing primarily for subsistence. East Timor's development is constrained by bad roads and mountainous terrain, a shortage of skilled labour, and the proximity of the highly efficient economies of East Asia.
Social development indicators lag behind those of other small Micronesian states. When East Timor became independent, it took its place as one of the twenty poorest countries in the world. Its GDP per capita is just US$478, and its human development rating places it in the same category as countries such as Angola, Rwanda, Bangladesh, Guinea-Bissau and Mozambique. Life expectancy in East Timor is just 57 years. Nearly half the population live on less than US$0.55 per day. Very few people have received an adequate education - more than half the population is illiterate (55%). Over 50% of infants are underweight. And the country is still suffering from the destruction and trauma that followed the national vote for independence on 30 August 1999.
Bubble
The capital Dili appears to be bustling. But most restaurants, hotels, vehicles and apartment rentals are part of a bubble economy fed by the huge foreign presence. The official currency, the US dollar, has displaced its major rivals, the Indonesian rupiah and Australian dollar. There was considerable profiteering at the changeover over the past year when many traders simply rewrote prices from Australian dollars to US dollars, effectively doubling them at a stroke.
Aid and related spin-offs dominate much of the economy. This is an artificial economy that is not sustainable. It grew by 18 percent in 2001-02, but this was from a base of almost zero, and fuelled mainly by reconstruction, development and humanitarian aid. These factors were supplemented by the local coffee industry, where world prices are improving after several miserable years.
Independence will initially have a devastating effect on the bubble economy that developed under the two-year UN administration. Peace-keeping forces will be reduced from more than 8,000 to about 5,000, while the number of highly paid UN officials will fall from 850 to less than 300. The departure of these well-paid foreigners will burst the bubble of affluence in the capital. Estimates in Dili are that about 1,700 local people will either become under-employed or entirely jobless when the UN administration winds down.
It is indeed a tough year ahead. For 2002-03 it seems likely that growth will sink to zero. Thereafter a more balanced and sustainable form of development could set the country on a stable upward path.
The majority of Timorese derive their welfare from agriculture, and this will be the case for many years to come. Overall, East Timorese policy makers will face agricultural challenges. These range from the immediate issues of the substantial population movements after the September 1999 crisis, with their connected land ownership disputes, to infrastructure rehabilitation, reactivating rural markets and the agricultural extension service, and re-establishing commercial ties across the border to Indonesian West Timor. Development of off-farm, seasonal income generating activities is also important.
The new government's economic policies are pro-poor oriented but still untested. Its economic instincts are 'dirigiste' (meaning that the state must be involved in every aspect of social life). It will have to develop and maintain disciplined long-term fiscal policies in the face of the nation's grim poverty and its competing social and economic needs.
Besides the promised oil and gas, and the already noted coffee, tourism is also an important potential income-earner. However, it is seriously constrained by the weak infrastructure, limited international air links and lack of skilled personnel.
There will be a three-year gap in financing the government's budget between the end of current assistance programs and the beginning of significant revenue from the oil and gas in the Timor sea. So far, East Timor aid has been solely through grants. Although there is a willingness to offer more grants, these international donors may not be able to cover the full budget gap that is emerging. This will probably force the new country to accept loans, albeit at concessional rates.
Once the oil and gas starts to bring in large income flows, some of the earlier problems of the 'artificial' economy will reemerge. Combined with continuing aid, this will give rise to a broader challenge. When even a part of this money is spent in the so-called 'non-traded' sector (such as food) it will cause inflation, which in turn will harm the exchange rate and thereby reduce the country's competitive ability. There will also be the danger of an urban elite appropriating the benefits of commercial opportunities and budgetary allocations.
One of the major determinants of East Timor's long term economic future will be the way it uses revenues from the oil and gas in the Timor Sea. Under the 90-10 percent split wrestled out of Australia, this will provide a total income of US$7 billion over twenty years. However, even here there is a problem. The deal has hit a hitch with the decision by US-owned Phillips Petroleum and its partners to defer exploitation of the biggest field because of East Timor's decision to raise an extra US$1 billion in royalties.
Guard the oil
How should oil and gas revenue be managed? An endowment fund would save them in a trust fund that would store up some of the value for the next generation. This could act as a stabilising force. It would safeguard income from resource sales that rightly belong not only to East Timorese citizens of today but to those of the generation to come. There is clearly a balance to be struck here. Saving too high a proportion would mean foregoing some development opportunities and perhaps increasing the risk of the savings leaking away through corruption. Saving too little, on the other hand, might expose the country to financial problems in the future especially given the uncertainties in oil prices and the finite reserves under the seafloor. East Timor could consider a four-part fiscal strategy:
Control public expenditure: Give priority to spending on health and education so as to expand people's capacities and stimulate human development.
Avoid subsidising the wealthy: Fund at least some public services such as telecommunications partly from user fees.
Build donor confidence: Maintain a stable social, economic and political environment and a respect for human rights. This is vital for human development. It also encourages donors who want concentrate their resources on the poorest countries, but only those that have a supportive environment where aid can be used well.
Guard oil and gas revenues: Use them sparingly, and mostly for investment, since they are a one-off opportunity that will only last around twenty years.
All this means that East Timor's economic growth will be incremental rather than rapid. The challenge for East Timor is to maintain sufficient fiscal discipline to ensure essential investment in human development and to stimulate private enterprise, while resisting the temptation to spend oil and gas revenues on current consumption. East Timor now has the opportunity to set out on a new path, pursuing labour-intensive, pro-poor growth. This will mean opening up opportunities for the poor, using micro-finance schemes that increase employment opportunities for women and other groups who are outside the formal labour force.
East Timor should actively engage in trade with its neighbouring countries if it wishes to develop its economy rapidly. An independent East Timor will welcome sound investment by firms that wish to operate in an environment free of artificial barriers to trade. A secure investment climate will need appropriate laws protecting property rights and contracts, establishing a fair commercial code, codifying labour relations, and minimising the cost of doing business.
A major and early priority of the infant government has to be to demonstrate to the East Timorese, to international donors and to potential investors the importance of sound economic management, and sound law and order and judicial arrangements.
Dr Helder da Costa (helcosta@yahoo.com)is director of the National Research Centre, National University of East Timor (UNTL), Dili.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
After the brutal occupation, gender violence remains a reality
Dawn Delaney
Photo 1.
Caption: Women gather by the well in their Caritas supported communal garden, Oamna, Oecussi
The most pressing concerns for East Timorese women since the 1999 referendum are gender related violence and entrenched poverty. Gender-related crimes make up 40% of all reported incidents around the country and domestic abuse crimes make up half of all cases being heard in Dili District Court.
We have got the CivPol Vulnerable Persons Unit and organisations like Fokupers and ETWave providing support to victims of domestic violence. But as a long-term strategy we need other forms of support for women victims of domestic violence in terms of economic independence. We have already taken a big step forward in publicly discussing this issue. We need to strengthen the constitution even if it's only a reference to the position of the family and the responsibility to the wife. We tend to look at domestic violence in isolation. We write laws and make efforts to protect women, but it's part of a much wider social problem. (Dr Milena Pires, member of the Constituent Assembly and women's rights advocate)
Photo 2.
Caption: Manuela Perreira, Executive Director, Fokupers
Fokupers started because women suffered from the policy of forced sterilisation during Indonesian times. We helped victims from the conflict, women prisoners and wives of prisoners. It has changed to include victims of domestic violence. Now, the main idea is to empower women. Before, the people just concentrated on getting independence. People think domestic violence is an individual problem. It's not, its a public problem but awareness among women about their rights is very low, their right to not have violence in the house, so we give awareness through radio. We have one safe house in Dili for victims who need intensive counselling. We have children who have had abuse. There are so many problems for women in East Timor.(Manuela Perreira, Executive Director, Fokupers)
Photo 3.
Caption: From left: Eva Quintao (22), Sofia Olivera Fernandes (19), Umbelina Soares, graduates from the Timor Leste Police Academy in Dili
'Sofia Olivera Fernandes: I'm originally from Maliana. I feel proud of myself. I would like to work on domestic violence in the CivPol Vulnerable Persons Unit. I am the first daughter to be a police officer. During Indonesian time the main problem is sexual violence against women but now we are correcting anyone suspected of this crime. We learn about negotiation and mediation. We do this with the family and advise them to take action with the help of the community. Our culture is very old and it teaches us in a nice way how to respect each other, how to behave and have a good attitude.'
Photo 4.
Caption: Martha Caub, Oecussi widow.
'My husband died for Timor. I have seven children to look after now. Food is our biggest problem. The widows have problems about money, clothes and food. We receive wood for a house but not built yet. I'm living in the kitchen hut until my house is built. I was pregnant when my husband was killed. The militia who killed my husband I say to him "please wake up my husband and rebuild my house." I want the militia to come back to rebuild my house and my life.' (Martha Caub, Oecussi widow)
Dawn Delaney (dydel@netconnect.com.au) is a freelance photojournalist based in country Victoria, Australia. This material is part of her photo documentary project 'Lives remembered: Stories of East Timorese women' (Dawn Delaney, 2002)
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
Amidst globalisation, can East Timor still be a people's alternative?
Mansour Fakih
My first visit to East Timor was early in 2000. The towns were still smoldering, and the atmosphere was tense. I was shocked, angry, and so disillusioned. I never suspected my own people could have done such a thing. Outside the church in Suai the candles were still burning. There were flowers, and people said: this is where the priests were massacred. At night, I watched videos people had recorded of the abuses as they took place. A large number of them, many by amateurs, and they showed that the military was involved.
Here we were, Indonesians training human rights observers and educators who would be placed in every district of East Timor - a great experiment in democracy. My country had been one of the biggest human rights abusers of the twentieth century. All the examples in our training were taken from Indonesia.
When I went back to Indonesia there was nothing in the news about what Indonesian soldiers had done in East Timor. People were regretful, not for the abuses committed by their army, but because the East Timorese had chosen to leave Indonesia. This completely missed the point. So far, no lessons have been learned about what happened in East Timor.
The next time I went there was in early 2001. There had been a big change. Not the frustration of a year before, but an enthusiasm among the non-government organisations (NGOs) to help write the new constitution. I have been an activist for many years in Indonesia but I had never seen this before, and was most impressed. I was asked to help some women who wanted to introduce women's rights into the constitution. The political parties didn't have this on their agenda, and none of us really knew what to do.
They were not professional lawyers or even human rights advocates. But they were so committed. We workshopped about domestic violence. Then they discovered the UN Women's Convention. They studied it and took eleven clauses to put into their constitution. They then went back to their home districts and lobbied everyone they could find. They asked us to make their posters and campaign T-shirts in Yogyakarta. In the end four or five clauses got into the constitution! They were delighted, because it had been by their own effort. Now they want to watch if this constitution will improve their lives.
That is East Timorese democracy. People in Indonesia often think democracy is just about avoiding riots during elections. But it's about human rights literacy, and about women's involvement in drafting the constitution, to name just what I have seen.
World Bank model
On my third visit last April I met with NGOs who were thinking about advocacy after independence. What's your advocacy agenda? I asked them. They didn't really know. We discussed whether East Timor should join the World Bank. There is a debate about that. Some think we should be realistic, and it's OK to have debt, while others disagree. The NGOs do not yet have an agreed position. Some feared East Timor could become like Indonesia - mired in debt. Others agreed that East Timor could be forced to adopt the 'World Bank model', but felt it couldn't afford not to enter into debt because 'we have no money'. But all were worried that a free-market economy could be in conflict with the ideals that lay behind the independence struggle.
Women want the state to protect women's rights, everyone wants the state to protect their economic rights, but in the 'World Bank model', the state is powerless to protect. It is not permitted to subsidise.
So we asked ourselves: What would happen to the people if the state were to become so indebted it lost its power to protect? In fact the NGOs were in a difficult position, because many of them were helping the World Bank carry out 'community empowerment programs' in the villages. People welcomed the World Bank money. The Bank was just like the Church, they said - it cares for people. But in fact this is just another form of Structural Adjustment Program. This is the World Bank's way of preparing people for the free market, for privatisation of state facilities and an end to subsidies. The World Bank is aggressively lobbying the government to take on debt. They see East Timor as a clean slate, a model of what can be achieved with free market methods.
It is true that East Timor has been destroyed and badly needs money. East Timor needs to be rescued. But there are sources other than debt. For the European Union, for example, a few tens of millions of dollars is peanuts.
Indonesia has a moral responsibility towards East Timor. Without talking the legal language of war reparations, Indonesia needs to acknowledge it must pay East Timor back for all the infrastructure it destroyed in September 1999 - from telephones to electricity supplies. Other neighbours also need to be generous.
East Timor needs cash, not debt. Once there was the Marshall Plan, and the Colombo Plan. These were government-to-government grants. The World Bank was actually born in this era of state-led development - it was the Keynesian reaction against the free market. But today all that is regarded as in conflict with the principles of good governance. There must be no subsidies - everything is to be financed by debt.
East Timor has already or will soon ratify four international conventions - on women, on children, on civil and political rights, and on economic and socio-cultural rights. East Timor is more advanced than Indonesia in all these areas. All these conventions place the state in the role of protector to the people. But if East Timor enters the World Bank, and after that the World Trade Organisation (WTO), its obligations will soon be in conflict with its responsibilities under these conventions.
East Timor was born at the wrong moment. It was conceived from ideals of social justice, human rights. It was to be a state that would protect the people's rights. Its constitution is very socialistic. It took over in its entirety clause 33 from the Indonesian constitution, which specifies that all natural resources are managed by the state on behalf of the people. But this is the era of free markets, of liberalism, of corporate globalisation - what a contrast with the spirit of the East Timorese struggle! We outsiders always supported East Timor in that spirit. We are mistaken if we think the struggle is now over.
We need a new global solidarity movement to rescue the baby! Otherwise the people will soon be disappointed as the real economic policy becomes clear to them. They will feel betrayed and lose their trust in Xanana and his government. At least during the Indonesian colonial period there were public health clinics - this was after all a period of state-led development. But now there has to be competition and user-pays. People could become nostalgic for the past!
The new state of East Timor is under attack. The NGO community needs to support it. Let us not wait until it is too late. The message to the World Bank should be - leave East Timor alone! But the global solidarity movement should not leave East Timor alone. East Timor can become an alternative, just like we hoped Nicaragua would become an alternative in the 1980s.
Mansour Fakih (mansourf@remdec.co.id) directs the NGO Insist, in Yogyakarta.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
Review: Abidin Kusno examines trends in architectural design and urban planning in Jakarta
Julie Shackford-Bradley
In this book, Abidin Kusno examines trends in architectural design and urban planning in Jakarta over the 20th century that resulted in the 1998 riots. Kusno's objectives are to show how 'imagined community' takes concrete form and substance in the 'real' spaces of the city' in order to understand the ways in which postcolonial cities alter the space and form of the built environment for themselves, in the process, forming a dialog with their colonial past. As a representation of that dialog, Jakarta exposes its blind spots. Kusno argues that Jakarta's architects and urban planners have struggled with legacies of the colonial mind-set, particularly the 'tradition vs. modernity' construct used deceptively by both the Sukarno and New Order governments in their quest for power. The results have been disastrous for Jakarta's underclass.
Kusno contends that, while Sukarno promoted Jakarta's post-independence design in terms of 'modernist' nationalism, the downtown area was discreetly modelled on elements of aristocratic Javanese power and grandeur. Display models of the city's master plan simply ignored the kampung (lower class areas), as did Sukarno's urban policies.
Suharto's equation of nationalism and the 'traditional' was just as inconsistent. The New Order saw the emergence of an upper class with transnational dreams of 'First World' style housing developments and culture. Motivated by a fear of falling in status, this upper class elevated itself, literally, through the creation of fly-overs (elevated highways) that build up confidence leaving behind the 'lower' classes who are routed through the crowded street at ground level. Through transmigration, the becak (pedicab) removal program, and Petrus, (mysterious shootings), the urban street was further transformed into a site of disturbance and criminality. Now nationalism was linked with development and the mass media announced the birth of a new ideal middle class subject of the nation. Meanwhile, the underclass was degraded into a mass of 'undesirables'; excluded from the new nationalism, they had no overarching affiliation and nothing to lose in 1998.
These issues are familiar, but benefit from Kusno's analysis of their spatial aspects. The book also presents a discussion of tropical architecture, from both the colonial period (featuring the buildings of Thomas Karsten and Henri Post) and the present (Sumet Jumsei's 'water-based' cultures, and Ken Yeang's bioclimactic skyscrapers) that blend local/traditional and modernist elements. Through such examples, Kusno projects a hopeful vision for the future in which more Indonesian architects and urban designers can practice this type of fusion, once freed from the colonial mindset that still constrains them.
Abidin Kusno, Behind the Postcolonial: Architecture, Urban Space, and Political Cultures in Indonesia, London and New York: Routledge, 2000
Julie Shackford-Bradley (julie_shackford-bradley@csumb.edu)
Inside Indonesia 72: Oct - Dec 2002
Two directors resided in an intercultural realm
Ian Brown
Teguh Karya and Suyatna Anirun were each inspired by traditional and popular forms of theatre throughout Indonesia, as well as the Western forms of theatre they adapted for the stage. Their style of theatre resided in the realm of intercultural practices that all theatre artists in Indonesia now revere.
Perhaps better known in the Western world for his international standing in the realm of film, Teguh's career in the theatre spanned a period of twenty-five years from 1968 to 1993. Teguh, of Chinese ancestry, was born in Pandeglang, West Java, on 22 September 1937. His former name was Steve Lim, but assumed his current name when Suharto's New Order regime repressed the social presence and activities of the Chinese communities in the early days of his presidency.
Undeterred by repression, Teguh's Teater Populer was inaugurated on 14 October 1968 in the Bali Room of Jakarta's first modern international star-rated hotel, the Hotel Indonesia. Two short plays were performed to mark the occasion; they were adaptations of Western works, Antara Dua Perempuan (Between Two Women) by Alice Gerstenberg and Kammerherre Alving, Teguh's version of Hendrik Ibsen's Ghosts.
Two key elements of Teguh's theatre and films were naturalism and realism. These western influences derived from his studies at the Akademi Teater Nasional Indonesia (National Theatre Academy of Indonesia) in Jakarta, where he entered in 1961.
Teater Populer's core repertoire was adaptations of Western plays. Notable among them were The Marriage and The Inspector General by Nicolai Gogol, Tartuffe by Moliere, The Father by August Strindberg, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams, Bertolt Brecht's The Good Woman of Szechwan and Garcia Lorca's Blood Wedding. Teater Populer only performed two plays originally set in Indonesia, namely, Dag Dig Dug by Putu Wijaya and Jayaprana, a play based on the story of a legendary Balinese hero warrior, by the Dutch writer Jef Last.
Teguh continued to apply intercultural forms of stage presentation by adapting Sophocles' Antigone into the social and cultural environment of the Batak people of North Sumatra. The performance tradition of the Balinese dance dramas such as Barong, Gambuh and Arja influenced the style Teguh adopted for Jayaprana. This is the last recorded stage work performed by Teater Populer before it disbanded. Teguh Karya then dedicated himself fully to film and television sinetron. He had previously engaged with the medium of television for high quality play performances by Teater Populer since 1969.
Suyatna Anirun is rarely mentioned abroad, but in Indonesia itself his reputation as a great director and actor has impacted on the development of modern theatre throughout the archipelago. Born on 20 July 1936 in Bandung, West Java, in 1958 Suyatna, together with other artist colleagues, established Studiklub Teater Bandung (Study Club Theatre of Bandung), which became known simply as STB. Its first performance in March 1958 was Jayaprana. Suyatna had been educated not in a theatre arts institution, but through the Faculty of Fine Arts and Design at the renowned Institut Teknologi Bandung (Bandung Institute of Technology), ITB, where the former first president of Indonesia, Soekarno, had studied.
Suyatna directed plays in both the tradition of Western realism and through acculturation of performance traditions from the Sundanese region of West Java. Like Teater Populer, STB main repertoire was adaptations and translations of Western plays. Among the more notable Western playwrights were W. B. Yeats, Anton Chekhov, G. B. Shaw, Tennessee Williams, Pinero, Gogol, Ben Jonson, Shakespeare, Moliere, Brecht, Eugene Ionesco, Albert Camus, Jean Girradoux and Max Frisch.
STB also performed works by a number of Indonesian playwrights, such as Kirjomulyo, Utuy Tatang Sontani, Misbach Yusa Biran, Ajip Rosidi, Motinggo Busye and Saini K.M.. Their plays share a prime place of literary importance in the development of modern Indonesian theatre.
The performance genres of longser and masres from West Java were a fitting style for adaptations of plays such as Ben Jonson's political satire Volpone or The Fox for which Suyatna chose to use traditional masks in his version titled Karto Loewek. Costuming for this performance was the customary dress of the Sundanese, both formal attire and everyday street clothes were worn. A similar treatment was applied to the performance of The Matchmaker by Gogol adapted by Suyatna as Mak Comblang, but mixed with modern day dress.
Performance aesthetics were always paramount in Suyatna's theatre. He maintained that the theatre was primarily a source of entertainment despite the presence of its didactic. In many respects the essence of his theatre was Brechtian, a fact many Indonesian (and Western) critics and writers recognised when analysing the performance style of STB. Although well acquainted with the theatre of Bertolt Brecht, curiously Suyatna waited for twenty years before he directed Brecht's Caucasian Chalk Circle, which was performed in 1978 with the title Lingkaran Kapur Putih. Its success ensured performances in Jakarta at the arts centre, TIM, the nation's international showcase for the prime products of Indonesian art.
Perhaps the highest peak Suyatna reached was his production of Shakespeare's King Lear (Raja Lear) for STB. First performed in Bandung in April 1986, it was heralded by critics and the public alike for the virtuosity of Suyatna's performance in the role of King Lear. Prior to King Lear, Suyatna had directed Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (Romeo dan Yulia) in November 1993 followed by A Midsummer-Night's Dream (Impian Di Tengah Musim) in August and September I991.
The theatre performed by STB and directed by Suyatna was distinguished by its diversity of repertoire, its constant exploration of new forms through acculturation of performance traditions and its constant high standards of performance. STB itself also has the reputation of being the longest active group in the history of modern Indonesian theatre.
The theatre world of Indonesia has paid its last respects to these two visionary artists. Teguh died in Jakarta on 12 December 2001, Suyatna died in Bandung on 4 January 2002.
Ian Brown [darian@indosat.net.id] completed his PhD at NTU and is now an independent writer and theatre researcher in Bandung.
Inside Indonesia 72: Oct - Dec 2002
Two poets tour Australia
Marshall Clark and Giora Eliraz
It seems that the days of superstar poets - who bravely spoke up for the common people and criticised the Indonesian state, in front of large audiences in between being banned - have passed. When Rendra, who was Indonesia's leading poet throughout the New Order era, toured Yogyakarta several years ago, one writer in the letters page of Bernas suggested that Rendra had become like an old pillow - nostalgic and comfortable yes, useful and relevant no.
Since the fall of Suharto, Emha Ainun Nadjib, another of Indonesia's more oppositional cultural activists, has also kept out of the public spotlight. For several years, Emha hosted Gardu, a popular talk-show. However, TV audiences soon tired of the incredible over-abundance of talk shows following Suharto's resignation. When Emha himself grew tired of all the 'collusion' associated with organizing and rewarding guests, he pulled the plug.
Besides, Emha has never been able to shrug off his close association with Suharto. It is common knowledge that Emha, together with several other Muslim leaders, met with Suharto several times in the days before 20 May. It was at this point that Emha publicly transformed himself from an oppositional figure to something quite different. Some would say that his decline in popularity has mirrored Suharto's fall from grace. Long considered as one of Indonesia's foremost poets, these days Emha barely rates a mention.
It was as enjoyable as it was nostalgic, therefore, to see Emha reading poetry and dazzling audiences with his unique wit and political insight in Australia for several weeks in May and June. Invited by the Australia Indonesia Arts Alliance, and supported by the Australia Indonesia Institute and Garuda Indonesia, Emha gave lively poetry-readings in Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne. Like Rendra in the 1990s, Emha was able to draw enthusiastic audiences, consisting of as many Indonesians as Australians.
Accompanying Emha was another Indonesian poet, Fathyen Hamama Handry, also known as Fatin. Born in Padang in 1967, Fatin grew up in West Sumatra and has spent over a decade in Cairo, where she has studied theology at the Women's Faculty of al-Azhar University. Her poetry is not quite as sensational as Emha's, yet it contains its own fair share of social criticism. Fatin writes of riots and military violence in Semanggi and elsewhere in Jakarta, as well as the problems faced by Indonesian women, farmers fighting against poverty, women suffering in Aceh, and the struggles of the urban poor.
Like Emha, Fatin does not consider herself as one of Indonesia's more popular poets. In terms of literary figures, Fatin is no trendy Sitot Srengenge, nor a young and sensational Ayu Utami, or even a marketable 'woman poet' in the mould of Dorothea Rosa Herliany. Yet like Emha, in the midst of disappointment and frustration, Fatin continues to imagine a better Indonesia. It is for this reason that her poetry is worth examining, at the very least for the buffer it provides for the harsh coldness of Indonesia's post-New Order, and perhaps even post-reformasi, reality.
Fatin's latest collection, Papyrus (2002), exhibits the strong Islamic slant of her poetry. The opening poem, 'Al Fatihah', is the same name given to the opening sura or chapter of the Koran. Like the first chapter of the Koran, this poem is merely a few lines long: Segala puji bagi-Mu/ Tuhan/ lempangkan bagiku/ jalan/ amin [All praise to You/ God/ straighten out for me/ a path/ amen].
These poems - and their titles - are an indication of Fatin's position within a global Islamic historical consciousness. Her allusion to Islam is based on an effort to verbalise the thoughts and emotions arising from her deeply personal Islamic faith.
The distinctive Egyptian context of Fatin's poetry is also important. Many of the poems were written in Cairo, where Fatin leads the Cairo-based literary group, Komunitas Sastra Indonesia [Indonesian Literature Community]. Thus we see poems such as 'Samira dan Sariyem', a poignant tale of the sad life of an Eqyptian belly-dancer.
Fatin's poetry also includes many references to the pre-Islamic era of Egypt. The title of the collection Papyrus refers us back to another world, the world of ancient Egypt and the dawn of civilisation. Elsewhere, by arranging a set of poems under the title 'Cleopatra', Fatin alludes to a fascinating and defiant Egyptian woman and queen, who was, of course, from a non-Islamic context.
This engaging combination of the worlds of Indonesia, Egypt, Islam and pre-Islam makes Fatin's poetry fascinating and rich, speaking to us from both a global and local perspective. Besides placing Fatin's name on the map of Indonesian literary studies, Papyrus also suggests that Fatin's poetry can be seen as a representation of a deep pluralist view that has come to take hold amongst many contemporary Muslim intellectuals in Indonesia.
Marshall Clark (Marshall.Clark@anu.edu.au) is a lecturer at the Australian National University, on leave from University of Tasmania. Giora Eliraz (Giora.Eliraz@anu.edu.au) is a Visiting Fellow at the Southeast Asia Centre, Australian National University.
Inside Indonesia 72: Oct - Dec 2002
Unable to pay for formal lessons, many poor Indonesians have mastered English through radio, TV and film. Like Rizza of Surabaya.
Duncan Graham
Half way along Jalan Joko Dolog, opposite a high fence shielding a building site, is a small shop. Well, really just a glass counter facing the dusty street and more often behind shutters than exposed. For few people now livein the area, and the lane has become a short cut, a speed track between Basuki Rakhmad and Pemuda, the two great bitumen rivers trisecting the centre of East Java's capital Surabaya.
Apart from the spray-painted number on a battered iron gate, there's only a small chromed dome squatting unhappily on the pavement to catch the eyes of the Grand Prix wannabees. Should the sun ever penetrate the smog this artefact might glitter and mesmerise like a spinning night-club globe.
Once Nyonya Rizza's shop sold domes to the faithful for their personal mushollas. Then came the monetary crisis, and demand tumbled along with the rupiah. Now she markets half litres of lamp oil decanted from backyard drums into stained plastic bottles; tiny packets of washing powder, needles, thread, batteries pulled from under the splintering shelves, single cigarettes.
Also on the counter is a dictionary and a monster exercise book buffed brown, rusting staples losing grip against a stuffing of clippings, brochures and postcards. Most show distant lands and cities shimmering in the gloss of sunrise, the promise of heavenly locations free of crime and grime.
'Of course I'll never visit these places,' Rizza sings in rapid and sometimes scrambled English. 'No money. What does it matter? I can see what they are like, and people tell me. I can imagine. It's my vision.'
There are also photos of tiny Rizza standing alongside hulking Australians, broad as their accents. Her face is always open and laughing, theirs bemused. Only their mouths smile. No pictures show plump white male arms around her slender and inviting olive shoulders, her fine 44 kilo frame.
Although a mother, grandmother and widow, Rizza gets angry when addressed as Ibu, the standard Indonesian honorific for women of her status. She is 56, and claims a unique name, though Germany has a Rizza ice cream, which she thinks a hoot. She has John Howard's eyebrows, wears no make up but dyes her manic hair in copper tones. Her dress is mainly a torn skirt and marquee-size T-shirt.
She could pass for 40 despite a doctor misdiagnosing a heart attack in 2001 and prescribing treatment which put her in hospital with a serious illness. Her appearance, a voice which could stir possums, and up-front approach make her a stand-out among conservative customers and coy neighbours.
But it is her skill with English which provides the extra dazzle, for the nimble-minded and effervescent Rizza is one of the numerically large, but proportionately small number of poor Indonesians who have taught themselves our complex tongue.
Born in Malang of Madurese parents, Rizza was the fifth of nine children. Like his daughter, her businessman father was clearly smart and different, covertly listening to broadcasts from Australia and Malaysia during the dark days of Sukarno, when such behaviour was suspect. Rizza loved the foreign voices, did well at school and left at 17 to work in a bookshop in Surabaya.
Even now many Indonesian bookstores are sad affairs. Dominated by religious texts, comics and dictionaries, most volumes are bound in plastic to stop browsing and keep covers clean. In the dangerous days of Suharto's rise, when even the mildest comment could be interpreted as radical dissent, bookshops must have been even more sterile.
Unable to make such comparisons, the teenage Rizza found herself in Aladdin's Cave. She didn't just dust the wares, she hoovered them whole, particularly those in English. The occasional foreign buyer was quickly sucked into conversation. Their requests were taken seriously. 'I remember everyone wanted The Happy Hooker-r-r,' she said rolling the final syllables like a Scot. 'Very nice book. I think the publisher Macmillan.'
The shop used her sparkling personality and lovely voice to spruik the wares. Customers were not the only ones seduced. At 18 she married the manager, and sadly her love affair with language came to a shuddering halt. 'He did not like me always talking to the customers,' Rizza recalled. 'He very jealous. One day he threw a book at me. For ten years I did not practice English.'
One daughter was born. Twenty years ago her husband died from 'post-power syndrome', Rizza's label for inactivity after retirement. Photos show a small, neat Javanese with regulation moustache nonplussed besides his volatile wife with wild hair and giant spectacles: 'Jacqueline Onassis, ya?'
'Of course I was not sad. He was a good man, but why should I be sad? If I am, I will lose myself.' So despite the many lustful overtures from Indonesians and foreigners drawn by her magnetic personality, Rizza is determined to stay single and independent.
'If I married again I become sad, difficult with life,' she says. 'I must honour husband, smile-smile. It is a must in Indonesia as a wife, or it is a sin.'
'It is easy to fall in love, I have to strive to be strong. I say to men: 'Don't touch me. I am afraid of myself. This is very heavy for me, it is a danger for me. I don't want someone pity for me. I am a strong woman.'
Twice a week she goes to the mosque wearing a bonnet or scarf. Conscious of Western hang-ups about Islam, she stresses 'pure religion - no ideology'. At other times she meditates, listens to short-wave, translates English into Indonesian and vice versa. 'I love English,' she says and means it. 'Writing in English is a beautiful and profound experience. If I have troubles I write them down in English. Then they get better.'
Occasionally she spots a foreigner and cheekily calls: 'Welcome to my country', a greeting which takes many aback, particularly those who anticipate a con artist though her motives are altruistic. 'I want harmony everywhere,' she says earnestly, 'between friends, families, nations. Otherwise we are finished.'
At times her enthusiasm and humour overtakes itself. After hearing a German tourist recite the many marvels of his country she asked with feigned naivety: 'And how is Mr Hitler?' As a conversation stopper you don't get much better than that.
For Rizza the idle gossip which fuels Indonesian life is a waste of time. 'I don't like talk meaningless,' she says, famished for facts to be transcribed into the Big Book. 'What is the point? There are so many things to learn. I want to know about other countries, everything.' In exchange she offers fierce condemnations of her nation's leaders and their penchant for corruption. She says she was equally fearless during the days of Suharto when criticism was equated with communism.
If so, then the authorities must have overlooked the transgressions, for Rizza behind bars would have been more of a headache than behind the counter.
There is no chance Rizza's skills with English will be put to good use. Her vocabulary is vast and her ear sharp. Conversationally she can out-run many university English teachers and out-wit the rest, but her grammar is a dog's breakfast.
Indonesian schools teach tense to the point where enthusiasm is anaesthetised, so a poor self-educated woman who is a wiz with words will never get the opportunity to galvanise the next generation with her unquenchable lust for language.
Which is Indonesia's great loss and no-one's gain.
Perth journalist Duncan Graham (wordstars@hotmail.com) slumps in awe of all self-taught linguists.
Inside Indonesia 72: Oct - Dec 2002
Highlighting the state's role may help stop the Poso conflict
Syamsul Alam Agus
The conflict in Poso was initially triggered by local elite political skirmishes. Over the last four years, however, it has transformed into a conflict between grass-roots communities. Hatred and suspicion have spread among a society that previously co-existed peacefully. The bloody conflict between the 'red group' (Christians) and the 'white group' (Muslims) remains a daily topic of conversation. A string of horror stories have graced the front pages of the local media, making it difficult to differentiate between information and rumour.
The Malino Declaration was a government initiative to initiate reconciliation in Poso. The ten-point accord, subsequently known as Malino 1 after a similar agreement was drafted for Ambon, was signed on 20 December 2001. Poso's inhabitants hoped that the declaration could be implemented successfully, to end the conflict that has resulted in riots on 25-30 December 1998, 16-19 April 2000, 23 May-10 June 2000, 26 November - 2 December 2001 and most recently 12 - 16 August 2002.
Sadly, the Malino Declaration now faces utter failure. Between the declaration's signing and 12 August 2002, there were 30 violations. These violations involved both parties to the conflict as well as incidents triggered by the security forces.
These incidents became increasingly common towards the end of the period set down by the accord for the restoration of security. They have included mysterious shootings, bomb blasts and inflammatory graffiti. These various incidents have rekindled trauma, mutual suspicion and sensitivity amongst society in Poso. The security forces have also contributed to the situation by making statements to the community that have implied that the end of the security restoration period would signal the end of security itself. Predictably, following the escalation of these incidents, the police and military have requested more operational funds from the Central Sulawesi government to restore security. The tension that had subsided is again rising and could lead to further large-scale conflict.
The failure of the Malino Declaration can be traced to several factors. The declaration is elitist, relies on quantitative measures of success, and is laden with opportunities for profitable 'projects'. For example, in the period to June 2002, the Poso Regency Working Group spent 2.2 billion rupiah (roughly A$450,000) just on disseminating information about the Malino Declaration. The accord also separates social rehabilitation, reconstruction of facilities and security, as if these three concerns were not related. As a result, facilities have been constructed without regard for the prevailing security situation or whether inhabitants feel safe, and social rehabilitation has not been supported by affirmative policies towards various flare-ups and incidents. Efforts to restore security, which have focused on placing large numbers of security personnel in Poso, have been easily undermined by disquieting acts of terror. Security has become the monopoly of the security forces, who treat it like a tradeable commodity.
At a community level, there is still a genuine desire to live peacefully. Behind the conflict, the community still remembers a time when living with different religious groups didn't mean living with war. However, the trauma caused by various conflicts has unfortunately created a fear of attempting any reconciliation or rehabilitation that might succeed where the government has failed. Nevertheless, an awareness has started to emerge in Poso that the community has the right to feel safe and have their socio-economic needs fulfilled things they have lost during the conflict. For instance, after an Omega bus was bombed on 12 July 2002, the Poso Pesisir Subdistrict Inter-religious Congregation Communication Forum issued a statement demanding that the security forces work harder to prove that they are trying to resolve the conflict. This statement is also an example of efforts to shift the perception of the conflict away from conflict between grass-roots communities to the role of the state. However, such efforts are still a minority in the midst of media statements by religious figures and political parties that simply blame the other side.
The severance of lines of communication at a grass-roots level has made the community more easily influenced by divisive statements by members of the elite. The media, with its focus on circulation, is more likely to publish these statements. When signatories of the Malino Declaration expressed their disappointment with the security forces for failing to take serious steps to follow up violations of the declaration, the press packaged the statement in such a way that it provoked a negative reaction from one religious community.
Terror after terror, issue after issue, statement after statement - this has been the pattern following the Malino Declaration. If society again takes the bait and participates in violence, this pattern could result in further large-scale conflict. As such, the awareness that has been developed thus far must be guarded and continually consolidated. A broader alliance with a common perception must be established at the most legitimate level, namely between the communities that have directly suffered from the conflict.
Of course this will not be easy. Society has several vulnerable points that will need to be monitored, so that they do not influence the community's capacity to keep each problem in proportion. In Poso, there can be no separation between rehabilitating these vulnerabilities and placing the conflict in the framework of state accountability. These two matters must be worked on together, with the aim to muster a critical force in society aware of its rights and the practices that are weakening its former capacity to manage conflict and difference.
Syamsul Alam Agus (duael@telkom.net) is an activist at the Institute for the Development of Legal Studies and Human Rights Advocacy, Central Sulawesi (LPS-HAM)
Inside Indonesia 72: Oct - Dec 2002
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